


it is steep / it is stone

by despommes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despommes/pseuds/despommes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has to be almost two in the morning. The traffic in the city below is starting to lighten up. Light pollution has blocked out the stars, but at the moment he can’t find the energy to lament their absence. Instead, he puts the filter of the cigarette between his lips, cups his hand around the lighter, and inhales. He isn’t sure if his neighbors liked him or not before, but after tonight they definitely won’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. or so the story goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows what the hell this is going to be!!!
> 
> I realized that I've read a ton of amazing modern au's, but I've never thought to try and write one. So I'm giving it a shot! My other inquisitors will probably show up at some point, if I decide to expand on this, so feel free to read my other Dragon Age pieces if you want a little more info on them.
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!!!!!!

He hasn’t had a cigarette since finishing his undergrad.

It has to be almost two in the morning. The traffic in the city below is starting to lighten up. Light pollution has blocked out the stars, but at the moment he can’t find the energy to lament their absence. Instead, he puts the filter of the cigarette between his lips, cups his hand around the lighter, and inhales. He isn’t sure if his neighbors liked him or not before, but after tonight they definitely won’t.

The kitchen light flicks on behind him. It filters in through the open sliding glass door. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that it looks like a war zone in there. Cabinet doors hanging off their hinges, cream sauce spattered across the wall and countertops, a crushed carton of milk leaking all over the floor. The jagged shards of two shattered plates lie scattered on the tile like broken teeth. Come morning he’ll worry about dealing with the night’s carnage, but right now he can’t. He just can’t.

She cuts a slender silhouette on the concrete floor of the balcony. His eyes stay on her shadow as she shuffles outside to fall listlessly into the other wrought iron patio chair. She’s wearing running shorts and he worries, like a reflex, if she’s cold. There’s a messy wad of gauze taped over the palm of her left hand. Her fingers are stained dark brown with her own dried blood.

He exhales a cloud of smoke. “Does your hand hurt?”

“No.” She’s lying. An hour ago the adrenaline may have been enough to dull the pain but not anymore. Now her arm shakes. He knows she should probably go to the hospital for stitches, but he also knows she is stubborn and his suggestion would most definitely not go over well.

He finishes his cigarette. Stubs it out in the potted palm by the door. He’s reaching for another when she gets up, crosses the few feet between and cautiously curls up in his lap. She tucks the crown of her head under his chin. Her hair smells like that expensive coconut shampoo she buys. He doesn’t want to cry in front of her but the way she clutches at the front of his shirt isn’t giving him much of a choice.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is tiny, barely a whisper. “For everything.”

“I’m sorry too.” He is. Incredibly so.

“Please.” The word crawls into his lungs, catches in them like spiderwebs. “Please, _please_ don’t leave me again.”

He slides an arm around her shoulders and just holds her for a while. Her hair is soft against his cheek and he tries to pretend he doesn’t feel her shiver as she cries. They sit outside a long time, listening to the sounds of the city around them. The moon is just a sliver of silver in the sky that night.

She gets up eventually. Leaves him there on the balcony to crawl into his bed, and he knows she’s testing him, wondering if he’ll get up to follow her. He doesn’t. He wants to, very badly, but he doesn’t. She slides the glass door shut and the kitchen light goes out. He’s alone again, in every sense of the word, and it feels like he’s suffocating.

Solas lights that next cigarette.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com)!


	2. errant heat to the star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, what's happening? I don't know! I'm flying by the seat of my pants with the modern AU!
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!

**_Two Years Earlier_ **

 

* * *

 

  
He had never been one for parties.

Actively avoided them, actually. A true introvert through and through, social gatherings were something to be enjoyed in small doses with plenty of space in between. And usually there was work to be done, as was the case tonight. He’d tried to argue that.

Dorian had rolled his eyes. “You _always_ have work to do.”

“I have had these papers nearly two weeks,” he’d insisted. “If I keep them for much longer I’ll start getting e-mails—”

“It’s a four thousand level class, I doubt they’ll riot over that. If you’re worried about the drop deadline, that’s almost a month away. They’ll live. Aria, however, will simply die of heartbreak if you don’t come tonight.”

Solas scoffed. “Surely you exaggerate.”

“This is very important to her,” Dorian said sincerely. “She’s been trying to get this grant for almost a year now. It’s a lot of money, money she beat out countless other applicants for, and the things it will do for her research could very well kickstart her career. Now, her friends, that including you and me, have put together a little _fête_ so that we can all congratulate her and let her know how proud we are of all the hard work she’s—”

“All right, you’ve made your point.”

“So think about how much of an ass you’ll look like if you don’t go.”

“I understand, thank you.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It makes his glasses slide up his face. “It’s at Varric’s?”

“Correct. Don’t bother with dinner, there’ll be plenty of food. I just have to change and stop to buy a bottle of wine, and then Vivienne and I can pick you up at, say, seven thirty?”

Dorian must take his answering silence as an affirmative, because he bids him a cheery goodbye before tying his scarf and departing, the door to Solas’s office swinging shut behind him. Alone and with newly minted plans for the evening, Solas sighed and gathered up the aforementioned research papers, hoping optimistically that he’d get home early enough to look at them for a minute or two before bed.

So he’d taken the train home, checked his mail, and changed into a pair of jeans before settling on the couch to go over lecture notes and wait. True to his word, Dorian had texted him at seven thirty to alert him that they were parked on the street outside his apartment building. Then it was a twenty minute drive across town filled with Dorian’s good natured prattling and Vivienne’s sharp tongue (“Solas, darling, from which decade _did_ you pull that charming second hand, cable-knit atrocity?”). The car parked, he’d been dragged up the elevator, through the door, and into the noise and revelry.

And now here he is. There are far more people than he’d expected, many of whom he does not know. The apartment is nearly packed, and it’s a little difficult to maneuver among the crowd. At some point he’d been handed a home-bottled microbrew, which he is quietly sipping as he follows Dorian through the dimmed, atmospheric lighting in search of the evening’s honoree. Aria is tucked into a corner next to the bar, speaking animatedly to a couple of Varric’s friends. Her face lights up when she sees them and she politely excuses herself to come over and give them both a hug.

“Oh, I’m so glad you could come!” She kisses Dorian on the cheek, then turns to pay Solas the same affection. Aria looks flushed in her cheery yellow thermal, but happy all the same. “Especially you, Solas. I know you must have been awfully busy with midterms and everything.”

“I took the liberty of dragging him out of his office,” Dorian tells her, pouring himself a glass of dry, red wine. It makes her laugh.

“I’m sure you did.” She takes a sip from the plastic cup in her hand. It’s full of something fruity, and Solas had gotten a whiff when she’d leaned in to hug him.

“Congratulations,” he says fondly, and she smiles behind the rim of her cup. “You’ll be starting your research soon, then?”

She nods, grinning from ear to pointed ear. “Yep. They’re giving me twenty thousand for travel accommodations, equipment, and research assistance. That should get me about seven radio collars and a place on the satellite rotation. As it looks now, I’ll be headed to the Frostback basin this summer to tag some owls!”

“Ooh, camping!” Dorian says. “How fun.”

“Yes.” She giggles, using a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m… I’m so excited. I can hardly believe it. I haven’t stopped shaking since Monday afternoon.”

Solas smiles. Her excitement is infectious, and he is truly, genuinely glad for her. “I wish you luck. Hopefully your owls won’t be too hard to find.”

“Actually, the southern saw-whet owl is fairly easy to approach. Because of its small size, it depends more on its camouflage to evade predators rather than--you know what, I’m sorry.” Aria shakes her head. “I’ve just spent the last six weeks ripping my hair out defending my proposal to a committee and just for tonight I’d like to talk about anything but southern saw-whet owls. No, tonight I just want to see my friends, have fun, and… and…” She looks down into her cup. “And drink. I’d like to drink. Oh!” She grabs at Dorian’s forearm. “I forgot to tell you! Sansa’s here!”

“Sansa? From Val Royeaux?”

“Yes. Solas!” She turns to him. “You haven’t met my cousin Sansa have you?”

His eyes widen by a fraction and make a quick sweep of the room. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

“You simply have to meet her, you must be the only one here who hasn’t yet.” Aria reaches out to grab at his hand, pulling him away with her. He turns to give Dorian an alarmed look, but all he gets in return is a wiggle of brows. She turns her head to talk to him as she leads him out to the patio. “She’s just moved here, to live with me. I cannot believe you two haven’t met yet.”

Outside it is far less crowded and a little chilly. Against the balcony railing, Solas can see Varric talking to a woman in a flannel shirt. He waves them over.

“There you are, angel! For a moment there we thought you’d gotten lost on your way to the bar.”

“Funny. No, I ran into some people from the bio department, and then look who Dorian brought me!”

“Nice of you to come out, chuckles.” Varric claps him on the shoulder. “Try not to overexert yourself socializing with the rest of us.”

Solas gives him an unamused stare. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Varric.”

“And who is this we’re bullying now?”

His eyes follow the voice to its source at Varric’s side. The woman in flannel smiles back at him. There’s a blue plastic cup full of dark liquor held in her hand. He thinks he knows who she is.

Aria tilts her head in his direction. “This is Solas, a friend from work. Well, we don’t really work together, but he’s university people. Solas,” she gives the other woman a quick one-armed hug. “This is my cousin, Sansa Lavellan. We grew up on the reservation together.”

She extends her unoccupied hand to him, and he takes it shyly. “A pleasure.”

“The history professor, right?”

“Ah, no. Anthropology.”

“Yes!” She nods, as if remembering something. “That’s right. Sorry.”

There is a definite resemblance, but if he hadn’t known she was Aria’s cousin he would never have noticed. Same heart-shaped faces, same cheekbones, same long and tapered ears. That seems to be where the likeness ends, though. Sansa is a fraction taller. Her face is mapped in freckles, and where Aria’s hair is pale blonde and silky hers is thick, curly, and very red. They have different sets of _vallaslin_. The lighting is too poor for him to discern what color her eyes are.

“Sansa’s just moved here from Val Royeaux.”

“So far.” Now he’s curious. “What brings you all the way to Haven?”

“Work, mostly. It was, um…” She pauses, like she’s deciding what to say. When she makes up her mind she gives him a tight-lipped smile. “It was time for a change of pace.”

Varric clears his throat. “Freckles here is a member of the Val Royeaux Elven Ballet.”

“Yes!” Aria says proudly. “Principle, for two years.” Her cousin throws her a look and she shrinks a little under her gaze.

“That’s…” Solas is a bit taken aback. “Very prestigious.”

“I’m actually on hiatus. For now I teach beginning ballet at a dance company here in the city.”

“Ah.” There are clearly some parts to the story he’s deliberately being deprived of, but he decides to leave it be.

Varric’s phone lights up in his hand. He looks down to check it. “Angel, there are some publishing people here that I wanted you to meet. They want to talk to you about your research.”

“Okay!” She looks at Solas, and then at Sansa. “If I leave you two alone for a few minutes is that going to be a problem?”

“It’s fine.” Sansa takes her mostly empty cup from her. “Go on, go talk about birds or whatever.”

Varric begins to lead Aria away and Solas thinks he sees her pointedly mouth the words “Be nice!” over her shoulder. Next to him, Sansa shrugs. She takes a long sip of her drink.

“How long have you known each other?”

He pauses, beer bottle raised to his lips. “Aria?”

“Yes.”

“I met her when she applied for her post-grad at the university. I know some people in the sciences college, so Varric put her in touch with me. That must have been two years ago now.”

“So… you knew her back when—”

“Yes,” he says, not needing to hear the rest of the question. “I did.”

There’s a tense, awkward silence. Solas stares out at the crowd, people watching, while the woman beside him fidgets.

“So, as a professor of anthropology, what is it you actually study?”

He blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s a really broad subject. I want to know what, specifically, you do.”

“I…” She’s watching him closely, nails drumming against the thin plastic of her cup. “I specialize in and teach a course in ancient elven mythology.”

“You are _shitting_ me.”

“Excuse me?”

Sansa starts to laugh. She tries to stifle it with a hand over her mouth, but giggles seem to slip through her fingers. “Oh, I used to get the pissiest phone calls from Aria about this mythology professor she knew who had the most backwards and condescending things to say about the Dalish. Oh, creators that was _you_.”

“I—” He can feel his face growing hot. The words he wants to say jumble together on his tongue. “She said that?”

“Oh, yeah.” She leans back on the railing, grinning at him. “She used to think you were such an ass. From the way she talked I always thought you’d be much older.”

“I admit, some of the things I said to her were a little… undeserved.” He starts to peel away at the label on his bottle. “I’d never really spent a great deal of time with any Dalish. But Aria and I have discussed at length a few unfair prejudices and misconceptions I may have had. This is the first I’ve heard of her expressing any… _pissiness_ , however.”

“Yes, she’s sweet like that.” The laughter has died down, but she’s looking at him with one of her eyebrows arched and her teeth in her bottom lip. For a second, it feels like she’s sizing him up. “Well, Solas. I’d like us to be friends.” She reaches out, grabs his beer, and takes a long drink. Momentarily stunned, he just watches as she hands it back to him. “And if we’re going to be friends, you should know…” He swallows as her hand comes up to rest over his sternum. She leans in to whisper lowly into his ear. “I’m not nearly as nice as Aria.”

With as close as she is, he finally figures out what color her eyes are. They’re a deep, endless green, almost hazel, and there’s a dark ring of gold close to the iris. She turns away from him without a second look and disappears into the darkened apartment.

Vexed, Solas leans back against the cold balcony railing. He upends the bottle and drinks the rest of its contents in two long draughts.

It feels like something very important has just happened, but he can't quite figure out what or why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com)!


	3. in the morning, i'll call you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. The modern AU is different, but it's turning out to be pretty fun.
> 
> Please leave your thoughts in the comments!

He needs new shoes.

It’s early morning, and the sun is masked behind a wall of impenetrable grey. Mist rises from the night-chilled ground and leaves the air sodden and cold. Wet leaves litter the paved track, and Solas dodges them as he runs. He’s clammy with sweat and the damp air makes sure to keep him that way. His breath fans out in front of his face in hard, smoky puffs.

He doesn’t normally run on the weekends, but he’d skipped Friday in favor of working on those same papers he’d been fretting over. The trail he frequents is quiet, tucked away in a wilderness restoration plot somewhere near the university. This early in the morning it’s pretty deserted with the exception of the occasional pair of cyclists or fellow jogger. Solas comes here because it’s close, it’s secluded, and quite frankly he likes the scenery this time of year. The leaves are well into the turning of their colors, but those remaining on the branches are still vibrant and beautiful.

He can feel his feet sliding in his running shoes, and it makes him grimace. The soles are getting worn out and at this point no insert is going to fix it. He’s resigned himself to purchasing another pair when he notices the runner up ahead. She’s jogging in short, bouncing steps, likely just warming up and he lifts his head to call out, “On your left,” before he passes her.

“Hey!”

Startled, he whips around, coasting into a stop. The jogger smiles at him, giving him a little wave and he realizes he knows her.

“I thought that was you.” Sansa blinks up at him in the early sunlight. Her face is flushed and her hair is fuzzy from the damp. “Solas, right?”

“Yes.” His hands fall to his hips as he huffs to catch his breath. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” One of her earbuds is hanging down the shoulder of her jacket. “I had no idea how many people would be out here. I certainly didn’t think I would recognize anybody.”

He chuckles, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. “A small world, as they say.”

“Do you mind if I, um…” Her bottom lip disappears behind a row of white teeth. “Are you just getting started?”

He nods. He’s been at it, properly warmed up and running for maybe ten minutes. “Why?”

“Would it be okay if I ran with you? Just for a little while. It’s my first time out here and I’d really like not to get mugged or something.”

“No, of course not.” That’s probably fair, he thinks. “If you’d like to join me, that’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“It’s no problem.”

The grateful grin she gives him makes his ears hot.

At first he’d been worried if he’d have to slow down, unsure if she’d be able to keep up, but it soon becomes clear that is not an issue. She stayed at his side, not once lagging behind despite the noticeable difference in their strides. Their shared run is mostly silent. Solas had never been one to listen to music as he exercised. No, he much preferred the calm quiet of the outdoors at this hour. Sansa, on the other hand, popped her loose earbud in and was content to get lost in her playlist. He’s almost thankful, as he’s not confident in his ability to maintain a conversation with her after the party at Varric’s. At least, not in the middle of his morning run. So they loped along in a surprisingly comfortable silence. By the end, he was sufficiently fatigued, doubled over and gasping. He looked over, surprised to find that Sansa barely even seemed out of breath. She’s tucked her headphones into her pocket and started stretching for what he assumed was a cooldown.

“Is it always this deserted?” she asks him.

He straightens, still breathing hard. “I usually only come on weekdays, so I’m not sure about Saturdays. But during the week it is fairly empty, yes.”

“It’s lovely out here.”

The sun still refuses to make an appearance. Solas is checking his phone to make sure there is still no rain in the day’s forecast. It isn’t until he goes to put it back into his pocket that he realizes she has asked him a question.

“I’m sorry?”

She laughs. “I _said_ , are you hungry?”

He blinks. “Oh.”

“I’m starving. There’s this café a couple of blocks away. They have really good breakfast on Saturdays.” She tilts her head in his direction. “Would you like to go?”

He didn’t eat before he left, and the gnawing in his stomach is happy to remind him of that. Solas tries to recall what he has in the way of food back in his apartment. He has… bread. And bran flakes. No milk.

“Yes,” he answers quickly.

The place is small, he discovers, and appears to be family owned. He gets the _œufs en croute_ with asparagus and a cup of coffee, which he nearly turns white with cream. Sansa orders an omelette with ratatouille and a steaming cup of mint tea. He can smell it from across the table. She puts two packets of sugar in it and stirs.

“Do you like living in Haven?” he asks her over the rim of his coffee cup. He purses his lips, blows some of the heat from it.

“It’s... “ She deliberates for a moment, eyes drifting skyward in thought. “It’s quaint.”

That makes him laugh. “I’d imagine that compared to Val Royeaux yes, Haven must seem very quaint.”

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Haven’s a nice enough place. I used to come here to visit Aria a lot, and that’s how I know everyone. It’s just taking some getting used to. There are some things I miss about Val Royeaux and some things I don’t.”

“Like what?”

Her fork scrapes against her teeth when she takes a bite of her omelette. She chews quickly, swallows before answering him. “First of all, I miss taking the metro. Aria and I rent a house in the suburbs so I have to drive into the city everyday. Could live without that. Second,” she says around a bite of zucchini, “I miss the food. There was this little pastry shop I used to go to maybe twice a week. I’d get a pistachio éclair that could bring a grown man to tears. I’ve been on the lookout for something similar here but so far I’ve had no luck. And I miss the wine.”

“What don’t you miss?”

“The Orlesians.” She says it in such a deadpanned tone of voice he nearly burns himself on his coffee. “I mean, there are racist humans all over the globe but Orlais is on another level. I got called rabbit on the street at least everyday, and the worst part is no one there even thinks twice about it. That’s just what they call elves. Nicer than knife-ear, I guess, but it still gets under your skin.”

“Curious as to how successful an elven ballet must have been.”

She scoffs, and for a second he thinks he’s offended her. “There’s a lot to that, actually. You see, for some reason humans have gotten it into their heads that elves are just _naturally_ more graceful. They claim elves have bodies better suited for dancing, which, of course, is a load of shit. Sure elves are smaller, more compact, but just like humans it’s all genetics. Some of us are born with smaller heads, longer necks, and the right feet, some aren’t. Some dancers are lucky and some have to work harder than others. So they pay outrageous money for tickets to come and see us dance, and they leave feeling so charitable and cultured for finally giving the elves the recognition we deserve for how good a job we’ve done to come so far in the world of art.”

“But they’d never cast an elf in any of their own ballets.”

She looks at him thoughtfully, like he’s caught her off guard. For a split second, he can see a shadow of bitterness lurking behind her eyes, but she turns them down towards her plate before it has a chance to surface. “No,” she murmurs. “No, they won’t.”

Now that the atmosphere has been sufficiently made heavier, they spend the next few minutes picking at their food in relative silence. Solas gazes out the café window at passersby, coffee cup warm in the palms of his hands. More and more people have come in to be served as the hour grew later and by now there’s a pleasant hum of chatter building in the air.

“Do you run a lot?” Sansa asks him. She’s leaned back in her chair, carefully sipping at her tea.

“Every morning during the week.”

“Today is Saturday,” she helpfully supplies.

“Yes, well, I did not go yesterday morning. There was work I needed to finish.” She makes a quiet noise of understanding behind her napkin. “And you? Do _you_ usually run on Saturdays?”

“No. But I might start to. I used to have class every Saturday morning.” She smiles a little, shrugs her shoulders. “I’m still learning to sleep in.”

Solas doesn’t envy her. He’s certain that if he hadn’t gone out that morning he’d still be in bed, happily snoozing away for hopefully a few more hours. As they get up and pay their separate bills, he plans on doing exactly that as soon as he’s home. Once they’re outside again in the chilly autumn air, Sansa turns to him.

“You know, Solas,” she says, looking at him through playfully narrowed eyes, “You’re all right.”

He chuckles. “Am I?”

“Yes, I think so.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone; I’ll put my number in it.”

It sounds less like a request and more like something he is simply expected to do. His heart starts to race. A voice in the back of his brain is saying, do it, give her your phone, you want her phone number. And so he hands it over without any preamble and she gives him hers in return. He makes himself a contact, types in his name and number. When he gives it back Sansa scrolls through to find it.

“Solas Harillen?” she says, reading his full name. He wants to grimace but manages to hold it back. “Professor Solas Harillen. Let me just…” He watches as she scrolls through her keyboard and adds to it an open book emojii on one end and a pair of glasses on the other. He looks down at his phone and finds that next to her own is a crown and a slice of pizza, respectively. “There.” She grins. “Perfect.”

She says goodbye, imploring him to text her if he ever decided to go running on a Saturday again. He watches as she walks away to find her parked car. The clouds rumble menacingly overhead and it motivates him to hurry along the three blocks to his apartment.

The sky opens and starts to pour just as he’s unlocking his door, fat drops beating against his windows. Solas showers, pulls on a worn set of lounge pants and falls back into the bed he hadn’t bothered to make earlier. He picks up his phone to look through his email. For the moment, his inboxes are empty. He absentmindedly flips through apps, not really thinking about what he’s doing until he finds himself opening his contacts. Sansa’s name glares back at him on the screen. His thumb hovers over the edit button.

He changes the slice of pizza to a sunflower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com)!


	4. just have to keep a dialogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry this has taken so long to get out, but I've just been so busy and it's been so hard to write between depression and school. This one has just been sitting half written in since January. Please leave a comment with your thoughts, I love to see your feedback!
> 
> If anyone can help me figure out how to successfully publish emojis in chapters I'd really appreciate it!

It has been a spectacularly shitty day.

That morning Solas had slept through his alarm, which made him miss his train to work. That meant he hadn’t been able to stop for breakfast and by the time he got to his office he was already irritable. He’d tried to brew some coffee before class but quickly discovered he was out of filters. So he went to class hungry and groggy and walked in to find that twenty-two out of fifty students had come to attend lecture. The upcoming weekend is a long one to mark the autumn break so he really should have expected this, but nevertheless it grates on his nerves. He gives those who actually decided to show up three extra points and lets them out fifteen minutes early.

His office hours are uneventful so he continues writing that semester’s third exam. He’s drowsy and it’s slow going. By them time Solas leaves to get lunch he has practically nothing typed up. He buys a sandwich and a bag of chips and as soon as he sits down at his desk to eat them Merrill, the anthropology department’s one PhD student, pokes her head in his door.

“I brought you your mail!” she chirps, shuffling through all the papers in her arms. She hands him a stack of extra credit assignments and university newsletters, then drops a few envelopes on his desk. “Oops, sorry.”

“Thank you, Merrill,” he sighs. He’s not exasperated with her, per se, just at the day in general. He throws the newsletters in the recycling and slides the papers into his briefcase. Merrill sits down at the chair opposite his and pulls her own lunch from her backpack. She chatters on as they eat and Solas nods and hums in agreement where appropriate as he looks through the rest of his mail.

There’s an envelope decorated with the blue and gold lion of the University of Orlais. Solas leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples. He really doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

“Have you said anything to them?” Merrill asks.

“I told their department head I needed time to think this over. She is… very persistent.”

“She scares me.” Merrill bites into her apple, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “I went to a conference once and she was the keynote speaker. It was a very long and intimidating half an hour.”

“She can send as many letters as she wants. I will make my decision when I’ve given it enough thought, and she’ll get her answer no sooner.”

“I think you should do it.”

He looks up from his sandwich. Merrill gazes back sheepishly. “Do you?”

“Mmhmm. You’re far more qualified than anyone they’ve got over there. I’d much rather see your name on any Mythal publications as hers. And it would be great for your book!”

“Thank you, Merrill.” And he means it. The Temple of Mythal had been discovered in the Arbor Wilds only a few months ago, and when the University of Orlais had announced its intentions to send their own excavation team he’d rolled his eyes. Their anthropology department had only one elf in its entirety, a young graduate assistant named Colette. And so six weeks ago when he’d received a letter asking for his help on the dig as a mythology expert he’d been thoroughly shocked. They wanted him in Orlais for a year, airfare and lodging paid, to assist in the dig and advise in any publications that came out of the excavation. It’s an opportunity that could do amazing things for his career, and as Merrill had said he has his book to think about. He’s been published in academic works before, papers and studies he’s contributed to over the years, but he’s been in talks with publishers for the past few weeks about his own academic text on the importance of the Elvhen goddess Mythal. So naturally, the opportunity this dig provides him is not one he can easily ignore.

He’s pulled from his thoughts at the sound of Merrill’s short gasp. “You don’t have any coffee made!” she exclaims. He blinks at her.

“I couldn’t. I’ve run out of filters.”

“Poor thing! You must be miserable. Here.” She stands up, throws away the stripped core of her apple. “I’ll bring you some from the lounge.”

“Merrill, that’s really not necessary—”

“It’s nothing, really. I’m the one who keeps it stocked anyway, it’s not like anyone will notice.” Before he can protest any further she’s up and through the door, throwing a singsong “Be right back!” over her shoulder.

Left alone with his half-eaten lunch and his mail, Solas glares at the embellished envelope on his desk. He needs to give her an answer, and he needs to do it soon. He’s not sure how much longer he can put it off. Sighing, he slides the letter into his briefcase and resolves himself to making his final decision that night.

Merrill brings him the coffee filters but does so in a hurry, muttering something about a meeting with a student she’d nearly forgotten. He brews a pot as he tries once more to write his students’ exam and nearly lets out an audible groan at the first sip. It’s like a fog has been lifted from his mind. He manages to get most of the test written in the next couple of hours.

He locks up his office and leaves about ten minutes earlier than usual, eager to be gone before Dorian makes his way over from the physics building to coax him out of his apartment for the evening. They have the next two days off in addition to the weekend, but he has assignments to grade and emails to send that he’d rather get over with as soon as possible. The letter from Orlais sits heavy in his briefcase. Solas can feel it weighing him down the entire train ride home, and when he unlocks his front door he lets it fall unceremoniously next to the coffee table.

Hours later, having changed into a pair of sweatpants and eaten a cold dinner of leftover pasta, he finally sits down with his laptop to type up a reply to the University of Orlais. Dr. Morrigan Drake was not a patient woman and Solas was surprised she hadn’t yet resorted to calling him at his office to wring an answer out of him. Despite his apprehension concerning the university’s tendency to erase elves from the rediscovery of their own history, Solas could not ignore an opportunity like this. It was simply not an option. And so it is with bated breath that he quickly hits the send button on his lengthy acceptance email before he has a chance to change his mind. Now he has a lot to consider. He’ll need to find someone to take over his lease come next fall, somewhere to put all of his furniture. Haven will need to find someone to teach his class while he’s away—

His phone vibrates, the screen lighting up in the dark of his living room. Solas nearly jumps at the sound before reaching out to look at it. It alerts him that he has a new text message, from Sansa. He purses his lips in curiosity, swiping his thumb across the screen to read it.

( Do you want gelato???? __ __ __)  
╯  


Solas pauses, a bit confused. Types out and sends a response.

( I’m sorry? )  
╰  


For several seconds he watches the flashing dots that indicate Sansa is typing. He starts to wonder if maybe it was a mis-text. They hadn’t spoken since breakfast almost a week ago, and he hadn’t been expecting to hear from her. Perhaps she had meant that message for someone else and sent it to his number by mistake.  


She finally hits send.

( This is solas right? Dorian and I were out getting drinks but now were going to ginos and he said you liked gelato!!! So do you want? .gelato )  
╯  


Solas smiles. He’s not sure why. It’s been a while since he was last drunk-texted, and the possibility that Sansa had been thinking of him enough to text him in the first place makes his head spin a little. He has to remind himself that he really doesn’t know her very well. They’re not close, casual acquaintances through mutual friends at best, but he can’t help but like the idea that she might think of him from time to time.

( I’m flattered by the thought but I’m afraid I’m working at the moment. )  
╰  


( BOO )  
╯  


That makes him laugh. He can practically imagine Dorian trying to wrench the phone from her hands to add in his own two cents on Solas’s work habits. He’s trying to think of a reply when another message pops up.

( Wahat is your favorite flavor? )  
╯  


The smile vanishes. He should stop this. Solas thinks back to the ungraded assignments in his briefcase, the unfinished exam in his data cloud. The acceptance email to a year-long dig in Orlais he just sent. Solas knows himself, and he’s not a fool. He hardly knows Sansa, but he likes her. He likes her far too much. He should tell her not to worry herself, wish her goodnight, and then settle in for the night to work.

But it seems his thumbs have a mind of their own.

( Hazelnut. )  
╰  


He receives no more messages after that.

Over an hour later, as he’s scribbling comments on his students’ extra credit papers, Solas hears something outside. He takes off his reading glasses and stares at the door, waiting. There are footsteps up the outdoor stairs. He can pick up whispers, the easily distinguishable and hushed timbre of Dorian’s voice followed by sharp exclamations of “Shhh!” There is a knock at his door, and then poorly hidden giggles as two pairs of feet dash back down the stairs.

Solas opens the door of his apartment to the chilly night air. The pair are gone, but at his feet sits a small cup. Two scoops of rich hazelnut gelato sit together, speared by a small plastic spoon and supported by a light sugary cookie. He picks it up and goes back inside.

Thirty minutes later he’s managed to finish off the gelato and, to his chagrin, get a small drop on one of the papers. After he’s brushed his teeth and fallen into bed, he takes his phone and types.

( Thank you for the gelato. )  
╰  


It takes her almost no time to reply.

( Did someone sneaky leave some gelato at your door? )  
╯  


( Yes, it was delicious. )  
╰  


He tries to feel guilty, he really does. But no amount of self condemnation can quell the giddiness spreading through his chest like honey. Before she has a chance to text back, Solas plugs his phone into his charger and tucks it under a pillow for the night.

Even through the sharp mint of his toothpaste, the gelato is still sweet on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com)!
> 
> And remember, if you know a way to publish emojis in chapters please let me know!!!!


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